For days I have thought about writing here. Anything to relieve the ennui. Anything to keep my brain from working.
So, here I am without my brilliant thoughts.
They're all gone.
They went away with the wind. Or sleep. Or atrophy. Something. All the three great topics I wanted to write about. Vanished.
I think one was going to be about the end of life. Mine. Like how I realize that I am not going to last much longer...you know. Bones creaking. Getting forgetful. Aches and pains. Troubles in the world where I am not sure I want to see to the finish. Those kind of things.
I worry about dying. I worry about not waking up one morning and everything being black because I am not in my head or body any more. I wonder if I will look at my body and wonder what was going on, or especially where I was going.
Yeah. That makes me think.
Where am I going?
I don't particularly like dirt.